


Sniffles

by sabershadowkat



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 22:34:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4455011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabershadowkat/pseuds/sabershadowkat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angel has a cold, is doped up on medicine, and has lots of sex.<br/>Alternate Universe</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sniffles

"Good evening, boys and girls!" A penguin puppet with a plaid bow-tie popped up on the red-checkered stage, waving its cloth hands and sounding remarkably like Wesley. "I'm Mr. Flibble."   
  


Another puppet popped up. "And I'm Mr. Clucker!"   
  


"YIEEP!"   
  


Twenty sets of little eyes, plus two sets of beaded ones, focused on the noise.   
  


Angel, hand over his mouth, stared at the white feathery puppet on stage.   
  


"I say," Mr. Clucker the Chicken said in deeper version of Wesley's clipped British tone. "Is there a problem that I need to peck?"   
  


Angel's eyes widened further, and he turned on his heel and bolted for the library doors. "Chicken. Watch them. Gotta go," he blurted as he dashed by Cordelia and Gunn.   
  


"Huh?" Cordelia said.   
  


"Don't look at me," Gunn said with a shrug. "I don't speak Deranged Vampire."   
  


Angel shoved through the double glass doors of the public library and burst into the very rainy night. The rain was coming down in buckets, soaking the brunette within seconds. Angel didn't care. He'd stand in a firestorm if he had to, anything to put a wall between himself and the chicken.   
  


Angel leaned against the brick facade next to the door, the rain pouring down on him. Chickens. He shuddered. Puppet or not, he _hated_ chickens. With their feathers, and their pecking, and their clucking. And that walk! Their scrawny chicken necks sliding forward and back, while their evil red eyes stared evilly...   
  


Angel shuddered again. Irrational or not -- _vampire_ or not -- he was shit-scared of chickens. So in the cold, heavy rain he would stand, since he wasn't about to go back inside and he didn't have the car keys. His co-workers could handle the demon child supposedly sitting in the children's room, watching the puppet show. The puppet show starring Mr. Flibble and a _chicken_.   
  


Shudder.   
  
  
  


*****   
  
  
  


"'Under the bork bork, people walking above... under the bork bork, we'll be making love... under the bork bork. Bork bork.'"   
  


Angel paused in the doorway to the kitchen, listening to the singing coming from within. Under the bork bork?, he thought, puzzled. The song sounded like _Under The Boardwalk,_ by The Drifters, only with the wrong lyrics. More importantly, what the heck was a 'bork bork'?   
  


He sniffed, wiped his nose with a tissue, hitched up his sagging silk pajama bottoms, and padded into the kitchen. He was hungry and thirsty... and heavily medicated... and sleepy... and achy... and stinky... and his throat hurt... and his tummy... and head...   
  


Angel had a cold.   
  


Never mind that vampires couldn't _get_ a cold. They couldn't get sick at all (unless they were poisoned by a psychotic slayer named Faith, but that's another story entirely). That was one of the benefits of being a vampire. It said so in the brochure. Immortality, super strength, fast healing, doesn't get a cold from standing outside in the freezing rain for an hour because you're terrified of a chicken with Wesley's hand up its ass. Bleargh, nauseous now. It looked as though Angel was channeling Cordelia, too... and hallucinating Spike's bare ass.   
  


Bleargh, nauseous now.   
  


Angel blinked. Blinked again. Wiped his nose and blinked a third time. Nope, still there. Spike's big white butt, bouncing while the blond bork bork borked.   
  


Angel needed to go lay down again. Or to take more drugs.   
  


"Spike," the brunette croaked instead. "Where are your pants?"   
  


A spoonful of something splattered on the floor, the counter, and some of the wall as Spike gestured with it, his bare bottom still facing Angel. "Over there. Got goop on 'em, so I took 'em off. What are you doing up?"   
  


Angel's cold-ey, drugged brain tried to process Spike's quickly spoken words and came up with: over, on, off, up, fuck me.   
  


"No sex, sick, g'way," Angel whined, then coughed up his eighth lung. He hadn't known he possessed so many, but his body seemed to be in disagreement.   
  


Spike turned around, dingle dangling. Or was it dangle dingling?, Angel thought, focused on said dangling dingle. Didn't Chuck Berry have a ding-a-ling and want everyone to play with it?   
  


"Oi, Peaches, stop staring at my naughty bits. Hard-ons do not belong near an open flame," Spike scolded, gesturing to the hot stove with the bubbling pot on it.   
  


"Then put your pants back on," Angel told him, a sentence he'd repeated far too often since Spike wedged himself back into Angel's life.   
  


Angel remembered the first night Spike had appeared at the hotel. The brunette had found his wayward childe in the office, painting his fingernails on the desk. Deep red polish had been spilled on the desk surface, and there had been multiple colored lines of polish on the arm of Angel's leather chair. "My color choices," Spike had said, a dopey smile on his face... caused by the dope Angel had found wedged under the desk blotter... which the brunette would vehemently deny smoking.   
  


Angel sniffed, wiped his nose, and stepped towards Spike. "Changed my mind. Turn around and grab the counter."   
  


Spike's brow climbed to the roof, but he turned around, did something to the stove, set the spoon down, took a step back, bent over, and grabbed the counter. His smooth white butt rounded from bending at the waist. The hem of the black tee Spike was wearing brushed the top swell of that luscious bare ass, providing a stark contrast that emphasized the aforementioned ass even more.   
  


Angel licked his lips, made a face at their snot flavoring, wiped his nose again, and stuck the dirty kleenex up the sleeve of his black rugby shirt. The silk pajama bottoms he wore were rubbing sensually against his erection. It felt _so_ good.   
  


An idea popped into Angel's drugged mind and he grinned. Reaching for the pole in his tenting pajama bottoms, he gathered the silky material around his cock, and created the very first -- for him, anyway -- silk condom.   
  


Sniff. Angel pressed the silk-covered head of his penis against Spike puckered opening and slowly pushed inside. "Ohhhhhhhhhmmmmmmm," the older vampire groaned as he fully sheathed himself in the blond's tight, tight, tight body.   
  


Angel drew his hips back and felt his shaft slide along the silk-lined passage. He thrust forward, hard and quick, and the friction from the silk burned along the bottom of his manhood. He pulled back again and thrust... back and thrust... back and thrust... back andthrust... back andthrust... backandthrust... backandthrust... backandthrust... backandthrustandbackandthrustandbackand...   
  


Burning, bursting, choking-on-snot bellow, "GEYAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHH-ACK--" Choke. Cough. Coughcoughcoughcoughcoughcoughcoughcoughcoughcough.   
  


"Oh, lovely," Spike muttered.   
  


Angel swallowed the phlegm-ball in his throat, then patted Spike's lower back. "Sorry," he croaked, sounding a lot like Barry White. He slid free of the younger man's body and frowned when he felt a wet glop as his pajama bottoms dropped into place. Yuck.   
  


Angel suddenly staggered as an unexpected wave of exhaustion hit him. He knees began to buckle, but before he could have a face-to-face chat with the floor, strong arms caught him and held him up. "Ay ye bloody mick," Spike said in a bad Scottish accent. "Whar d'ye tink ye're goin'?"   
  


"Spike, I don't feel good," Angel said in a shaky whine.   
  


"Yeah, well, you're sick." Spike balanced him on his feet, then gently prodded him towards the door. "Go back to bed, luv."   
  


"But what about...," Angel gestured at Spike's stiffy.   
  


"It'll still be here when you're well, Angel," Spike said with all the unconcernedness of a caring lover... which instantly made Angel suspicious.   
  


Angel watched as Spike crossed to the table and began put on his jeans. "Are you serious?"   
  


"Of course I'm serious, pet," Spike said with a roll of his blue, blue eyes. "And don't get your froofy head in a tizzy. I'll shag your knackers off once you're back to your non-sick self, don't you fret."   
  


"Oh," Angel said. "Okay." He started to leave, then stopped and gave Spike an "I'm sick, do this for me" look. "Can you bring me some juice?"   
  


A slow smile curved Spike's pale pink lips. "Do you want me to put it in a sippy cup?"   
  


Angel scowled, but it was ruined by another coughing fit. Hack, cough, hack. Ugh. Sniff. The brunette gave Spike a half-hearted wave and headed out of the kitchen. Bed sounded really good. It was soft, and he could lay down on it and sleeeeeeeep. Angel liked to sleep in his bed. Angel liked to have sex in his bed. Angel liked to have sex with Spike in his bed. Angel also liked to jump on his bed like a little kid, but only when no one was looking. Angel was talking to himself in third person.   
  


Angel needed to sleep.   
  


*****   
  


"Yes, but does it bounce?"   
  


"What does that have to do with determining its gender?"   
  


"Haven't you ever heard the phrase: 'bouncing baby boy?'"   
  


Canned laughter pulled Angel from sleep and he slowly opened his eyes. He was curled on his side, his arm wrapped around a jean-clad waist and his head pillowed on a soft abdomen. The television across from the bed was on, and the muted voices of the Grace Brothers Department Store crew drifted to him. A quiet chuckle came from above, and Angel shifted slightly, nuzzling against the soft skin under his cheek.   
  


"You awake, old son?" Spike asked, his voice low and undisturbing.

 

"Mm-hmm." Angel tried to breathe in Spike's scent, but his nose was as stuffed as his head. "I'm muzzy."   
  


"Muzzy?" Spike laughed. "Is that even a word?"   
  


"Dunno," Angel murmured. Sniff. Nuzzle, nuzzle. "I'm sick. Don't make fun."   
  


"I have something to make you feel better," Spike said.   
  


Angel's hand shifted from around Spike's hip to his crotch and lightly squeezed. Spike hardened, growled softly, and whapped the older vampire gently on the hand. "Not that, you trotting ponce."   
  


"But I'm sick. You should give me what I want," Angel pointed out, sliding his cheek against Spike's abdomen to look up at the blond. "And I want your cock."   
  


"I think the drugs have made you loopy, pet," Spike said, but he unbuttoned his jeans nonetheless. "At the very least, horny as all get go."   
  


"Yeah," Angel grinned goofily, "don't'cha love it?"   
  


"Depends on what you're gonna do down there," Spike replied with a smirk.   
  


"Push your jeans down, and I'll show you," Angel returned. He lifted himself slightly so Spike was free to do as requested, then settled back into place.   
  


Spike's penis was long and thin and rock hard, and inches from Angel's face. Angel ran his fingers over the velvety flesh covering the tensile length, earning a shiver from the blond. The older man wrapped his hand around the base in a firm grip and pulled the uncut tip to his mouth. He slid his lips around the head and began to suck as if Spike's cock was a straw: suck and relax... suck and relax... suck and relax... suck and relax... sniff, suck and relax... suck and relax...   
  


Through half-closed eyelids, Angel watched the television across the room, rhythmically sucking Spike's cock. He was in no hurry to bring the younger vampire to climax. Angel was comfy, Spike seemed to be enjoying having his dick leisurely attended to, and the brunette hadn't seen this particular episode of _Are You Being Served?_   
  


Ten minutes later, the British comedy ended, and Spike let out a low moan. "Angel," he breathed, his fingers clenching and unclenching around locks of the older man's hair. "I can't bloody take any more."   
  


Angel chuckled around the hardness in his mouth, and Spike moaned again. The brunette moved, positioning himself between the younger man's legs, his mouth still wrapped around the head of Spike's penis. Angel stayed on his knees, his ass in the air, and he shoved his clean pajama bottoms down his thighs. Reaching under his body, Angel coiled his fingers around his thick erection and began to stroke himself.   
  


Spike's fingers dug into his scalp as Angel sucked the other man's entire length into his mouth. Angel fell into an easy tempo, his head bobbing over Spike's lap in rhythm with his hand. From practice, Spike's long shaft slid easily in and out of Angel's mouth, and the dark curls surrounding the pale member tickled Angel's stuffed-up nose with each full descent.   
  


"Angel... pet... coming... soon... Angel... coming... soon... soon...," Spike babbled softly, his hips picking up Angel's rhythm.   
  


Angel didn't speed up or slow down, he kept his pace constant until Spike's hands tightened on his skull and the younger man uncontrollably thrust himself completely down Angel's throat. Spike snarled as he climaxed, his shaft pulsing in Angel's throat as the older man greedily swallowed the bittersweet come.   
  


When Spike's tensed body became limp, Angel let the blond's softening member slip from his mouth, and knelt up. Watching his sated childe, Angel continued to smoothly fist his marble length. He saw Spike's nostrils flare and blue eyes dilate as he focused on Angel pleasuring himself.   
  


"You are so good looking, Spike." Angel began weaving a fantasy in a throaty whisper, his hand moving over his hardness. "Flat planes and sharp angles... and you're so tight... gods, are you tight... I love feeling your muscles clenching around my cock as I slide in and out of you... It's such a good feeling that I never want to come... I just want to pound into you forever... feel you shudder and buck and writhe under me... hear you moan and breathe my name... wanting me to fuck you forever..."   
  


"Shit, Angel..." Spike grabbed his knees and pulled them to his chest, his jeans still around his thighs. His manhood had swelled again and was twitching and jumping against his abdomen. His hair-sprinkled sac was firm against his body, and his darkened hole winked in anticipation.   
  


Angel stopped stroking himself, grabbed a pillow, and put it under Spike's hips. Then he added a second pillow... and a third... Spike was completely exposed to Angel, holding his jeans-clad legs tightly to his chest. He was panting and trembling with desire.   
  


Angel positioned himself, put his hands on the backs of Spike's thighs, and pushed inside. "So... fucking... tight...," the brunette moaned.   
  


"Fuck me," Spike begged in a hoarse whisper. "Fuck me, Angel. Please, now."   
  


Angel shuddered, sniffed, and obeyed. He began a fast, punishing pace. His pelvis smacked hard against his childe's ass, flesh against flesh, his thick cock disappearing again and again into Spike's stretched hole. Bruises appeared on the blond's thighs under Angel's fingertips and on his perineum where Angel's pubic bone repeatedly hit. Spike's inner muscles grasped at Angel's shaft, the silken walls of his channel becoming hot with friction.   
  


"I... am... fuck... ing... you...," Angel chanted with each hit of his body against Spike's. "Hard... and... fast... and... you... love... it... You... are... mine... to... fuck... when... ever... I... want..." His eyes rolled back as white flames licked at his testicles. "Isn't... that... right... my... little... fuck... toy..."   
  


"Yessssss," Spike hissed, and Angel was gone.   
  


Angel's entire body jerked as he came. He shot load after load of jism deep within Spike, flooding the tender hole. His orgasm seemed to go on for an eternity, a never-ending wellspring of pleasure that was certain to kill him.   
  


When the last drop of semen was wrung from Angel, the older vampire sank back on his heels, his softening shaft pulling free of Spike's hole with a slick pop. He was panting harshly, his throat becoming dry. He closed his eyes, wiped his nose with his sleeve, and slowly calmed.   
  


A small whimper captured his attention and he opened his eyes. Spike was still propped on the pillows, leaking spent emissions from his bruised hole. Angel had started the dominance play, and Spike was sticking to it still, even though Angel bet the blond wanted to fuck him into unconsciousness.   
  


Grinning, Angel reached out and caressed the bruised skin, smearing the expelled semen around. Spike whimpered again. The brunette pushed two fingers into the puckered opening and searched for that one specific spot...   
  


"Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh..."   
  


Found it.   
  


Angel tickled Spike's supersensitive gland until the blond yelled out and orgasmed, his inner muscles crushing Angel's fingers. Angel waited, grin still in place, for Spike's body to relax. Then he withdrew his fingers and replaced them with his tongue.   
  


"Angel!" Spike gasped, his hips bouncing on the pillows. Angel's tongue swept in and out, thoroughly cleaning the younger man. Spike groaned and muttered and sighed and pulled off his jeans to spread himself wider for Angel.   
  


Angel finished down below and made his way up his childe's body, licking and sucking and kissing Spike's soft, pale skin. Eventually, Angel made it to Spike's mouth, and he claimed it in a passionate kiss, his larger body sloped over the blond's, his spent manhood nestled against Spike's well-used bottom.   
  


The older vampire broke the kiss, sniffed, and smiled. "I like you."   
  


"The feeling's mutual, sweets," Spike said. "But if that big ol' booger drops on me, I might change my mind."   
  


Embarrassment washed over Angel, and he jumped off the bed, yanked up his pajama bottoms, and fled to the bathroom. He could hear Spike's laughter behind the door he'd slammed in humiliation. He decided he was never leaving the bathroom again.   
  


"Come back out here, you poof," Spike called a few minutes later, knocking on the door. "I still have something for you."   
  


"No. G'way."   
  


"Angel," Spike's sigh was full of exasperation. "Get your fat arse out here, now."   
  


"My ass is not fat," Angel stated after opening the bathroom door.   
  


Spike smirked. "You're not the one with the close-up view of it, peaches."   
  


Angel scowled, folded his arms across his broad chest, and sniffed. "You said you had something for me?"   
  


"Yeah," Spike held out a card. "Here."   
  


The scowl fell away and, curious, Angel took the card. It was the same one Gunn had given Cordelia last week for her birthday. The word "birth" was scratched out and "death" was printed above it. "Happy Death Day To You?" Angel questioned.   
  


"Just read the bloody thing," Spike told him.   
  


Angel opened the card to find whatever Gunn had written scribbled out with thick black marker. In the empty space below the mark-out, Spike had printed in block letters: "Stop being sick, I want to shag. Love, Spike."   
  


Angel blinked the blurriness from his vision, sniffed, then reached out and put his hand against Spike's forehead. "Oi, what're you doing?" Spike asked, brushing Angel's hand away.   
  


"Checking to see if you're getting sick, too," Angel said. "Because this is the sweetest thing you've ever given me."   
  


Spike ducked his head and shifted his feet. "I know it's not really your Death Day. I just thought, since you were feeling rotten, it'd cheer you up."   
  


"It worked."

 

Spike flashed a quick, shy smile at him, then turned and headed for the door. "I'll let you sleep, pet. You're probably knackered after participating in the Cock Olympics. Oh, and sorry about your new leather coat."   
  


The room door shut and Angel blinked. Coat? What about his coat? Why did the card in his hand suddenly seem like a bribe rather than a gesture of sweetness? And why didn't that surprise him?   
  


Angel looked at the card again and lightly ran his fingertips over the writing. Post-disaster bribe or not, it still was the sweetest thing Spike had ever given to him.   
  


Sniff.   
  


Stupid cold.   
  
  
  


**End**


End file.
